


Solstice

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Holidays, Pre-Femslash, Pre-Slash, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josephine meets Cassandra, falls a little bit in love, and tries to do something nice for her. It doesn't really work, until it does.</p>
<p>This story is set before "Wild, Wild Sings the Bird."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I wanted something to cheer me up as the weather got colder and the world got darker. Happy solstice!

Josephine Montilyet, ambassador and head diplomat of the Inquisition, was quite good at her job. Despite the relative austerity of the organization at Haven and then at Skyhold, she was consistently able to create and manipulate connections. She armed the Inquisition with information, and armoured it with alliances. She enjoyed her job, and she liked and respected all her colleagues — this was not entirely necessary, she knew from experience, but it certainly made her job easier, to say nothing of pleasanter.

There was, however, the problem of Cassandra.

Well, it wasn’t a _problem_ so much as a puzzlement. After all, it wasn’t as though Josephine was incapable of working professionally with someone she was attracted to. Josephine prided herself, in fact, on her professionalism, on her ability to work with anyone and everyone, be they someone she personally despised or someone she frankly adored. Moreover, she was no wide-eyed innocent — she knew infatuations faded, with time and familiarity.

This was why it was so strange that her attraction should, stubbornly and against all reason, _persist._

When Josephine had first met Cassandra, introduced to her by Leliana, she had been immediately and predictably smitten. Cassandra Pentaghast might as well have stepped from the very refrains of the chivalrous tales Josephine adored as a child. Certainly, Josephine recognized the name, had done her research on this woman as soon as Leliana had reached out to Josephine about becoming involved with the Inquisition. A moderately-distant relative to the Nevarran king; the only surviving member of her immediate family; Right Hand of the Divine, erstwhile dragonslayer, Hero of Orlais. Even before she set eyes on Cassandra Pentaghast, Josephine was moved by her life’s story, by how grand and sad and romantic it seemed.

At that initial introduction, Josephine had noted that the Seeker carried herself with the upright dignity, the effortless grace, the implied strength one would expect of a member of her Order. She was also, Josephine had seen with some dismay, possessed of a striking beauty, with regal cheekbones, piercing kohl-lined eyes under expressively arched eyebrows, pretty pink lips, several dashing scars, raven-dark hair.

Josephine, no stranger to encountering beauty, had spoken to her with utmost professional courtesy. To her considerable relief, she had quickly found Cassandra Pentaghast was _nothing_ like Josephine’s childhood stories, nor did her character much resemble the lurid and romantic tales that were told about her. Over the course of their first conversation, Josephine concluded that Cassandra was blunt, practical, and intelligent. There was nothing flirtatious, clever, or deliberately charming in her manner.

In the ensuing months at Haven, Josephine had been able to work with Cassandra as she would with any other colleague. She had quickly learned that the Right Hand of the Divine was not inclined to hesitation or second-guessing; once she had chosen her path, she charged down it like a galloping horse. It would be easy, Josephine thought, to perceive the Seeker as humourless, a driven and self-righteous paladin. It seemed obvious to Josephine, though, that this was a woman plagued by doubts that she tried to overcome in order to do good, a woman who held others to high standards only because she rigorously held herself to even higher ones. Josephine was also charmed to discover, in rather inferential and indirect ways, that the Seeker possessed a romantic side (which was certainly not inexplicable in someone as idealistic as she was), and that she had a delightful sense of humour that was rarely expressed.

Josephine did her work as ambassador, and did it well, building connections for the Inquisition, championing diplomatic solutions to their challenges. She grew to greatly respect Cassandra, who often joined them in the war room when the advisors strategized. Once or twice, Josephine invited to Seeker to sit with her over what scant hospitality Josephine was able to provide, to seek her insight into Chantry matters. Josephine even, in her sillier moments, began to nurture a small spark of attraction that, apparently, had never left. Cassandra eschewed most of the courtly graces valued by nobility; she had no interest in making herself liked, in charming people. Despite this (or perhaps because of it, Josephine had to admit) Josephine began to find the Seeker extremely captivating. She was beautiful and striking, to be sure, but more than that — she was honourable, devoted, faithful, fascinating.

Josephine was very, very careful to keep this sentiment to herself. She was reasonably certain that Cassandra would not appreciate it. And Leliana would surely tease her mercilessly. Still, it was pleasant to cherish a little crush, to think on it in private, to appreciate simply knowing such an extraordinary person.

***

One day late during their first autumn at Skyhold, Josephine met with the guards who were stationed on rotation to the gatehouses to discuss issues pertaining to security, visiting dignitaries, and the terms of the various contracts the Inquisition had with merchant guilds. It had become apparent to Josephine that, in order to have a better understanding of the issues at play, she would need to inspect the outermost building itself, and familiarize herself with the views that the guards would have from their posts. She had made her way through the frozen yard, and then across the viaduct, pulling her cloak about herself. Although it was snowing, the wind was not too bad; still, she was very exposed on the span between the curtain wall and the gatehouse. 

Josephine’s inspection, and the subsequent discussions, took most of the morning. When she made to leave the gatehouse, she found that the snow that had been falling upon her arrival had vanished, leaving a thick, cold fog in its wake — Josephine could not even see the outer walls of the fortress. This was Josephine’s least favourite kind of weather here in the Frostbacks, bitterly chill and stifling. Despite the cold, the air felt unpleasantly damp, less like mist and more as though an icy drizzle hovered in the air without actually falling in drops. She wished she had worn her heavier fur-lined cloak. Her mouth set in an unhappy line, she set out, clutching her leather folder of documents to her chest, tugging her hood over her head.

As soon as Josephine set foot on the viaduct’s flagstones, her feet slid alarmingly beneath her. She managed not to fall, just barely, although she did flail about in an undignified quasi-dance.

The flagstones were all coated with slippery ice. Josephine’s low boots, soled with smooth leather, were useless. She took a cautious step forward, wishing the viaduct — which made Skyhold wonderfully defensible — was significantly shorter.

Perhaps it would not be so bad once she was more in the open; perhaps the exposure had allowed some wind to blow the road clear of ice. Josephine took another step forward, carefully placing all her weight directly over her foot. Then another step, and another. As long as she was cautious, perhaps she would make it, at least to the second gatehouse.

She was not sure whether she became overly confident in her boots’ purchase on the flagstones, or whether she was merely unlucky, but five steps from the gatehouse door, both of Josephine’s feet fairly flew out from under her. Her folder went tumbling, her arms flinging out in a vain attempt to steady herself. She felt an instant of panicked anticipation — she had no way of stopping her fall, and this was going to _hurt_ — when suddenly, strong arms were catching her, lifting her back to her feet, holding her miraculously steady.

Unthinkingly, Josephine cast her arms around her saviour’s shoulders, clinging. Not letting go, she pulled back to say something to the person who had caught her, and found herself face to face with Cassandra Pentaghast.

Josephine had never been this close to the Seeker before. She forgot what she had been about to say, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Her attraction to Cassandra had not left her, although she was able to safely ignore it most of the time. But now, with the Seeker’s arms firmly around her, holding her as steady as a stone, Cassandra’s lovely face inches from Josephine’s own, Josephine was quite overcome. Josephine blinked slowly, ice crystals clinging to her lashes; she could not quite seem to breathe properly.

Cassandra, of course, was utterly unaffected. “Lady Josephine,” she said neutrally. “Are you hurt?”

“I… no, not at all,” Josephine said breathlessly. “Thank you so much. I’m afraid I… how are you standing?” she asked, incredulous and a little distraught.

Cassandra’s mouth quirked in a small smile. “Hobnailed boots,” she said. Josephine glanced down and saw that the Seeker’s feet were indeed encased in heavy-looking boots. It was somehow disappointing that there was such a mundane explanation. Cassandra went on, “Without them, I doubt I would be able to keep my footing on these stones either; they are treacherous when the weather becomes icy.”

Gently, Cassandra loosened her grip on Josephine, holding out an arm for Josephine to cling to while she knelt to retrieve her folder (which appeared to be undamaged, thank the Maker).

“Well,” Cassandra said when Josephine was standing again, still holding fast to Cassandra’s arm. “I shall walk you to the keep.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary!” Josephine protested. 

Cassandra’s eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. “I think it is, unless you wish to spend the rest of the day here at the gatehouse. Besides, I am heading back now myself. It is no trouble. Come.” With that, Cassandra set off, walking slowly so that Josephine did not slip too badly. 

Josephine held her folder very tightly in one hand, and gripped Cassandra’s strong and steady arm with the other. Her heart was still beating rapidly, although she had certainly recovered from her near-fall. Cassandra, to Josephine’s mind, was like an apex predator, all graceful, coiled strength, the epitome of confidence and danger. And now, here, all that strength was controlled, tame beneath Josephine’s hand. She shook her head a little to clear it; now was certainly not the time to become lost in daydreams. She paid very close attention to where she put her feet, trying desperately not to slip, or to show how agitated she was.

As they began their long walk to the fortress gates, to mask her discomposure, Josephine fell back on her most trusted tool: words. “I must admit, I am not especially looking forward to the winter ahead,” she remarked. “As you may plainly see, I am unfit for such conditions.” 

She had meant the remark as a jest, but Cassandra seemed to consider it seriously. “I honestly do not think anyone _enjoys_ this kind of weather. Or thrives in it. In Ferelden, they say that the Frostbacks are a place where the weak die young, and the strong envy them.”

Josephine, not expecting the joke, gave an undignified breathy giggle. “Oh! Oh dear. Well, I do hope that the Inquisition does not have many weaklings who may be at risk; perhaps it is only myself. I do find the cold and darkness to be hard to bear, especially when they last for as long as they do here,” she said.

Cassandra glanced at her. “I suppose you must find it trying, being from Antiva.”

“I do often miss the mild weather,” Josephine admitted. Then her foot slid with the next step, and she unintentionally let out a startled cry; Cassandra caught her, again, holding her until she regained her balance; then they continued on. “Thank you,” Josephine said softly. Then, “Are the winters very bad, in Nevarra?”

Josephine was not at first certain that Cassandra had heard her, since she did not say anything. After a few more steps, Cassandra replied, “Inland, yes, the winters can be very cold. But Nevarrans do not see the cold or the dark as bleak, or something to be avoided or despised. There are a number of traditions and activities that are done during the winter months. Some of them are to do with death rituals, of course, but many are to do with… with creating light amidst the dark, and coming together with loved ones.”

This was perhaps the most Josephine had ever heard the Seeker say at once. She took her eyes briefly away from the icy path in front of her to look at Cassandra’s face. She wore a thoughtful, perhaps even wistful expression. “Well,” Josephine said, turning her eyes back to her feet, “we will be celebrating Satinalia in a few short weeks. I am planning some festivities. Nothing too grand, of course, but I hope you will enjoy it.” 

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said; Josephine felt her shrug. “As a child, I’m afraid I did not much care for Satinalia celebrations. They were not much like what I have heard of Antivan Santinalia revelries. Now were they even like what I have seen in Orlais, or elsewhere in Thedas. In Nevarra, the feast days of Satinalia are… I suppose rather sombre.” Cassandra sounded thoughtful. “Certainly they held no charms for me, when I was young; they were all pomp and ceremony and the showing off of wealth. But the days following….” Here, the Seeker’s voice warmed.

“You… enjoyed the week of fasting?” Josephine was a little incredulous. Certainly, after the excesses of an Antivan Satinalia, fasting was often a welcome respite. But it did not sound as though this was what Cassandra meant.

“Not the fasting, as such. But this is accompanied, in Nevarra, with traditions that are about… about togetherness, and family. Rather than inviting the wealthiest or most high-ranking guests we could manage, we only had close family, perhaps some friends, in the household. I certainly preferred the bread and thin broth twice a day in the company of friends, to lavish, heavy meals in the company of many nobles. Truthfully, I suppose it was mostly just my brother and myself, but it was often the pleasantest time of the year, for us.” Josephine glanced at Cassandra; the Seeker was smiling. Josephine noticed, her heart fluttering, that Cassandra’s eyes had delightful little crinkles when she smiled. She quickly glanced back down at her feet.

Cassandra went on, “We would exchange small gifts, and spend the days telling stories or playing games together. He showed me how to make floating lanterns, and at night, after we broke our fast, we would light them and send them off from the balconies. Really, the fasting week is to celebrate the people already in one’s life, to come together before the cold and the dark isolate and threaten us once more. Which is, I suppose, rather morbid,” Cassandra said drily, “and, thus, very Nevarran.”

They had by then passed through the main gates to the fortress. Josephine, still holding fast to Cassandra’s arm, felt exhilarated — whether from the chilly passage, from Cassandra’s nearness, or from Cassandra’s unexpected talkativeness, she was not sure. Cassandra walked Josephine into the yard, off the flagstone path, where the ground was unpaved and not slippery. 

Cassandra advised Josephine to avoid the main stairs: “They will be even more slippery than the road. Why they did not install handrails is beyond me,” Cassandra groused, to Josephine’s chagrin (it was, in fact, Josephine’s own aesthetic sense that had prohibited the addition of a balustrade to the magnificent sweeping stairs). Josephine thanked her profusely for her aid; Cassandra merely nodded, walking off into the mist, no doubt heading back to whatever task she had been doing when she had come to Josephine’s rescue.

Josephine, shivering, made her way to one of the keep’s side doors, heading to her own chambers rather than straight to her office. She quickly shucked off her cloak and damp clothing, patted her hair dry as best she could, and changed into a fresh outfit. Before a chill could settle into her bones, she built up the fire in her sitting room and made a small pot of weak tea for herself. She knew from experience that attempting to work while shivering from the cold was not amenable to her productivity. 

As she sipped her tea, Josephine indulged in a few very inappropriate daydreams about being rescued by a strong, beautiful knight, and how she might express her gratitude…. Which led to a thought with actual merit: that she _could_ , in actuality, properly express her gratitude. Satinalia was, after all, fast approaching. Josephine had already laid most of the groundwork for the festivities and feasts, but she had not made any formal arrangements for the fasting week —in much of Thedas, it was almost an afterthought, a necessary and welcome period of recovery from the excesses of the week prior, with perhaps some extra time in the chantry for the more devout. 

But Josephine was struck now by what Cassandra had told her about it: _creating light amidst the dark, and coming together with loved ones… to celebrate the people already in one’s life, to come together before the cold and the dark isolate and threaten us once more._

Although Skyhold’s Satinalia would not be as lavish as an Antivan Satinalia, Josephine was confident that, with the force of her planning behind it, it would be a wonderful experience for everyone in the Inquisition. But perhaps… perhaps she could put some of her energy into a few events for the week after. Certainly, a few extra luxuries, and a little more downtime, would not go amiss with anyone in the Inquisition.

And if some stories and games, and perhaps a few floating lanterns, brought a smile to Cassandra’s face… well, that would be an added benefit.

***

As Inquisitor, Kaera Lavellan had been wholly in favour of a Satinalia celebration when Josephine had first proposed it. Josephine knew from her research that different Dalish clans tended to celebrate feasts specific to their clan’s history or patron gods, but it was generally understood that many clans held celebrations to mark the start of the cold season. After a brief discussion of logistics, timing, and budget, Kaera had given Josephine full discretion to plan and hold a relatively modest celebration.

Josephine, always careful with expenditures, had more than enough remaining in the Satinalia funds to add a few more touches for the week following the festivities. Josephine set to work, immediately, quietly, and in addition to her other duties. The increasingly wintry weather had the effect of slowing down the stream of dignitaries visiting Skyhold, but also made it more difficult to acquire the necessary supplies. Josephine had to be… creative. But this was true of many of her duties since she had joined the Inquisition. And there was a certain amount of satisfaction that came from meeting a challenge, after all.

Josephine was not entirely… _secretive_ about her plans for the fasting week. But she did not draw any unnecessary attention to her additional, and slightly unusual, Satinalia activities. She did not wish for Cassandra to know that she was undertaking special plans, more or less for Cassandra’s sake. Certainly Leliana would be aware of Josephine’s plans for a few Nevarran traditions, and was quite likely aware of Josephine’s underlying motive. She sincerely hoped that, if Kaera knew of the plans, she did _not_ know of Josephine’s motives, since that would be… exceedingly awkward. Josephine had recently become aware, through her own observations and through hints that Leliana had fed her, that Kaera had made some advances toward Cassandra, and that she had been quite emphatically asked to stop. It seemed that Josephine’s instincts on this had been spot on, that she had been quite correct in her assumption that Cassandra would not welcome Josephine’s flirtatious attentions, or those of any woman. Josephine sincerely hoped that Kaera had not been too heartbroken. She made sure to provide delicacies she knew the Inquisitor was especially fond of the next time Kaera came for a tea-time interval with Josephine; she seemed to be in good spirits, so Josephine was reassured.

Josephine planned for a few Nevarran parlour games, and researched Nevarran stories such as might be told in families. Many of the games would not work, as they had components that Josephine would simply not be able to source in time (often ghastly components, such as preserved finger-bones, or locks of hair from corpses), but there were a few that required only a pen and paper, or set of dice. Similarly, many common Nevarran Satinalia tales were rather grim, involving melancholy ghosts or frozen children, but she was able (with Dorian’s assistance) to locate a number of pleasanter tales, which she arranged to have copied out to be read aloud. Finally, she researched the construction of floating lanterns — they had a similar tradition in Antiva City, launching candlelit paper boats in Rialto Bay for Summerday — and set some of the children of the keep to making them.

Josephine also crafted a gift for Cassandra. There were not many sundries merchants passing through Skyhold now that there was snow on the ground even in the valley, but Josephine was able to buy a small amount of good-quality velvet, in a pleasing berry red. She was not much of a seamstress, but she was decent enough to make a pair of quilted wrist-warmers, sized to be worn under armour. She added frog closures made of fine dark-brown cord for fasteners, and a dark-brown ribbon for trim, items she already had in her sewing basket. On each, she carefully embroidered _CP_ in red thread that nearly matched the velvet — personalized, but unobtrusive. She was not at all sure how this gift would be received, but it pleased her to consider that it might bring some small happiness to Cassandra. If the idea of embroidered wrist-warmers for a Seeker bordered on the imagery of a lady conferring a favour on a knight, colours to be worn into battle, well, she hoped it was subtle enough that it would not be remarked upon.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to put all this effort into entertainments aimed at a woman who would certainly be mortified if she knew of the reason for them. Ultimately, though, Josephine thought, this was harmless, it was fun, and it would be good for everybody at Skyhold, and a nice culmination of the Satinalia festivities. That fact that Josephine’s initial motivation was her hopeless, silly infatuation was by the bye.

And, for the Satinalia week itself, there would be music, dancing, feasting, and all good things. As the awareness of the coming celebrations permeated the collective consciousness at Skyhold, an air of pleased anticipation pervaded. Josephine made small, embroidered gifts for her other friends at Skyhold — it would not do to single Cassandra out in that way — and even felt a certain amount of unmixed joy herself, looking forward to the celebrations.

One of the few people who seemed impervious to the anticipatory mood was Cassandra herself. If this was disappointing to Josephine, she did not let on. 

She was very, very careful not to hint, not to press for an indication of whether Cassandra was perhaps looking forward to the Satinalia festivities, or to the events planned for the days after. She knew, by now, that Cassandra was generally unmoved by the subtle machinations that Josephine was accustomed to using. The Seeker could not be influenced by clever words, by subtle touches, by mirroring of body-language, by standing perhaps a little too close, or angling one’s body ever so slightly away. Not for her, these base manipulations. The only thing that would move her was trust, earned and maintained; Josephine never wanted to test that trust. So she did not tease, she did not hint, she did not even mention Satinalia when Cassandra was present unless someone else brought it up first.

The holiday itself arrived, and everything went according to Josephine’s plans. The week of Satinalia was, as everyone expected, much more rustic and inclusive than in other centres of commerce and influence. It had been planned as a sort of patchwork of the traditions from different parts of Thedas, partly so that most of the humans in the Inquisition would recognize some of their own customs, partly to accommodate what the Inquisition was and wasn’t able to actually accomplish. There was dancing every night and cakes with little ceramic dolls baked into them, as they had in Antiva; group singing and recited stories, from Rivain; mummers’ plays and fragrant green wreaths all over the throne room, as was the practice in Ferelden; bonfires and fireworks (some imported, most produced by Dagna), from Tevinter; elaborate games of chance (which often took place over the course of days, and involved a dozen or more players) with fanciful symbolic prizes such as they had in Orlais; ceremonial shared chalices and long-winded toasts (which could be heartfelt or hilarious, depending on the speaker’s inclination) from the Free Marches. Nevarra was, despite Josephine’s best efforts, not especially represented; as Cassandra had indicated, their Satinalia-week traditions were rather sombre, and their intention of displaying wealth was not something the Inquisition was presently in a position to really do.

Most of the Inquisition enjoyed at least part of the festivities that were taking place, and Josephine and Cullen had ensured that all of the Inquisition servants, workers, soldiers, and recruits had extra free time to enjoy them. Josephine, keeping an eye on everything and everyone, was pleased to observe the successful fruition of her planning. Even Leliana emerged from the Rookery one morning and took part, tidily winning that day’s game of chance — her prize was a large wooden medallion painted with a golden jonquil on an azure field, hung on a blue ribbon. This prize supposedly indicated that the winner would find joy in the coming year. Later that day, Josephine spotted Leliana wearing it around her neck while singing in a large group gathered in the throne room, her hood uncharacteristically thrown back. She felt a lightening of her heart, and hoped fervently that the prize’s foretelling would come true for Leliana.

Of all the Inquisition, it seemed to Josephine that Cassandra and Solas were the only people not actively participating in _any_ of the Satinalia activities. Solas kept to his rotunda, as was his wont. And as far as Josephine could determine, the Seeker was simply going about her usual activities and ignoring any revelry she encountered. If she was in the tavern of an evening, she might listen to any music or storytelling that took place, might indulge in some of the hot spiced cider that was on offer, but did not appear to be especially charmed by any of it.

Ah, well. But it was not the Satinalia-week that Cassandra remembered fondly, Josephine thought. The coming week, when the festivities were over, Cassandra would likely enjoy the more quiet activities Josephine had planned. Or so Josephine hoped.

The week of festivities ended, as all things must end. The fireworks on the last evening were especially extravagant, the bonfires and dancing lasting long into the night. The next morning, everyone seemed perfectly content to, if not fast outright, embrace the simplicity of plain food, and return to the routine of their everyday tasks.

Josephine observed that Cassandra stuck to broth and bread only, and then only before the sun rose and after it set, and that she spent rather more time in the chantry than usual. This was to be expected.

What Josephine was _not_ expecting was the depth of disappointment she felt when Cassandra showed no interest whatsoever in the activities she had planned. Cassandra failed to even appear in the tavern during the subdued games Josephine had organized for each evening. Nor did Cassandra attend the small, quiet storytelling circles, not even the ones for which Josephine had arranged the kind of romantic tales she hoped would appeal to Cassandra. Every evening that there was little or no wind, they let off a few floating lanterns with small sturdy candles inside their paper-and-balsa-wood shells. This proved a very popular activity, with most of Skyhold’s population gathering in the yard and along the curtain wall to watch the lanterns drift off into the night, lights against the dark. Josephine looked while trying not to look as though she was looking, but Cassandra was never among the crowd.

It was silly to be upset, Josephine told herself. The activities had, in fact, been very welcome by most everyone in Skyhold. They had brought people together, in small, intimate groups; it had been more about connecting than revelling. Josephine could easily see that this had made many people happy, and she had, herself, enjoyed all of the activities. At various points during the week, she had been able to sit down and visit with her friends. She had given out her little gifts — Leliana had been especially charmed with the drawstring pouch upon which Josephine had embroidered a nug — and caught up on pleasant but inconsequential matters, or learned more about her friends’ pasts and personalities. It had been quiet, and peaceful, and fulfilling.

Josephine watched Kaera gently release the very last lantern on that final night, standing next to Leliana, their breath all visible in the cold air, listening to the cheers and chatter of the people watching. Despite how lovely it all was, how well her plans had gone, she could not ignore the feeling of emptiness in her chest. It would pass, she knew. It had been a frivolous wish, to make Cassandra happy. She would get over her disappointment, and everything would be as it had been.

As the last lantern — by then a mere speck of light — vanished into the darkness, Josephine turned to Leliana and asked whether she would join her for a drink at the Herald’s Rest. A drink and some pleasant conversation might cheer them both, she thought. Leliana demurred, citing her work, but insisted that Josephine ought to go, as there was one remaining cask of the good cider Josephine had imported for the holiday. 

So Josephine bade Leliana goodnight, and headed to the tavern, alone. Inside, it was relatively deserted, as there were no more games, and it was, at any rate, quite late by then. But it was bright and warm, especially after the chill of the night air. She had thought to sit at the bar and visit with Cabot, when she spotted Cassandra in an isolated corner, at a table by herself, her back to the wall as usual.

Josephine experienced a brief moment of utter paralysis, perfectly balanced between wanting to avoid the Seeker and wanting to sit with her. Inevitably, though, she found herself walking over to Cassandra’s table, even before she had consciously made up her mind. It was unlike her not to think through _any_ decision. Perhaps she was simply tired after a long day, after two weeks of overseeing social events in an organization not set up for them; perhaps she simply wanted to go to Cassandra, more than her rational mind could overcome.

Cassandra glanced up as Josephine approached the table. “Lady Josephine,” she said by way of greeting.

“Seeker Cassandra,” Josephine replied. She felt both nervous and tired; perhaps this had been a mistake.

“Would you care to sit?” asked Cassandra, gesturing to the seat across from herself. “You must be tired after all the Satinalia goings-on.”

Josephine carefully arranged herself on the wooden bench across the table from Cassandra. “I must admit to being somewhat fatigued,” she said. “Though certainly this last week has been much more sedate than the week before.”

“Indeed.” Cassandra finished whatever was in her cup. She gave a wry grin. “I’m afraid I may have cheated a little, and broken my fast this evening with rather more than broth. I learned there was still a cask of cider, you see.”

Josephine thought, _Leliana,_ , but could not help but smile back. “Ah, how splendid!” she said. “I cannot possibly fault you for seizing such an opportunity.”

“I find I am not as inclined as I was when I was younger to adhere to the strictures of tradition,” Cassandra said. “Or perhaps I am merely getting soft in my old age.” 

Josephine heard the barest hint of irony in her voice; there it was, that sense of humour so often hidden, even oftener overlooked. Delighted, Josephine scoffed. “You are hardly in your dotage,” she said. “And I do not believe there is a person alive who would suspect you of being overly soft, although I suppose there might be a few deceased ones who made such an assumption.” 

Josephine was a little shocked at her own boldness, and at her macabre banter. But Cassandra laughed, low and husky, and said, “Perhaps,” in a tone that was playful and sly, and Josephine felt herself grinning helplessly, her heart dancing. (In Orlais, it would have been shameful, to be so easily undone. But Josephine knew, as surely as she knew her own bones, her own heartbeat, that she could trust Cassandra utterly and implicitly, that there were no ulterior motives with her.)

Cassandra seemed to catch someone’s eye over Josephine’s shoulder. She lifted her cup, signalling for another. Then she caught Josephine’s eye, raising one eyebrow inquiringly. Josephine nodded, and Cassandra held up two fingers to whoever was taking orders behind Josephine. She sat back against the wall and looked at Josephine. “Did you enjoy the Satinalia festivities, then, despite the lack of Antivan revelry?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh! Yes,” Josephine said, only a little flustered by the piercing brightness of Cassandra’s eyes. “There are many ways of celebrating the holiday, after all. Even before the Inquisition, I have not always been in Antiva City for Satinalia. All of the different traditions have their charms, I find.”

“Some traditions more than others,” Cassandra said wryly. Cabot arrived then, and set down two steaming cups of cider on the table, nodding when they thanked him. Cassandra went on, “From what I have seen, I would say that whatever traditions you have created here, for the Inquisition, have been a success.” Cassandra raised her cup to Josephine, then drank. 

Raising her cup in acknowledgement, Josephine also drank. She hadn’t had the chance to partake of the special cider they had brought in for the holiday before now; it was spicy, cloudy, tart, and absolutely wonderful. She hummed in enjoyment. Then she set down her cup, considering her next words. “Thank you,” she began. “It’s very gratifying to know that my efforts were successful. Did you enjoy the holiday?”

Cassandra shrugged. “I am not much interested in such things, I’m afraid. Anywhere there are crowds of noisy merrymakers, that is not a place I wish to be.” She sipped her cider. “It was obvious that most people were enjoying it all a great deal. My work was not much interrupted by the festivities, and so I suppose I enjoyed the holiday as much as someone with my disposition possibly could.”

“Ah,” Josephine said. Then, carefully: “Perhaps the week just past, and its quieter events, were more to your liking?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. “Well, certainly I prefer quiet, smaller gatherings to large noisy ones,” she said. “But no, when I was not at the chantry, I spent much of my time this last week in research and planning; it is best not to expend too much energy in physical activities when fasting. I’m afraid it did not occur to me to seek out any activities during the last week.”

“Well.” Josephine felt a thought rising up in her mind, along with the temptation to express it. She pushed it firmly back down. They sat in silence for a moment, sipping the cider. It warmed the blood, comforting and stimulating. Josephine was very pleased with it; it had been worth the expense of importing it.

Perhaps the drink went to her head, or perhaps she simply did not have as much self-control around Cassandra as she would have liked. Setting down her cup, Josephine voiced the thought she had told herself she would never express. “I suppose that I assumed you would enjoy the storytelling, the quiet games… the floating lanterns… since… since you had mentioned to me that you had enjoyed such things as a child.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Josephine regretted them immediately and deeply. What had possessed her, trying to wheedle a response out of Cassandra like that? She drew breath to retract her words and apologize, but Cassandra spoke up first.

“Honestly, Lady Josephine, activities such as you describe are inoffensive to me,” she said, sounding mildly annoyed. Josephine could not bring herself to meet the Seeker’s eyes. “Had I been so inclined, I’m sure I would have enjoyed partaking. But I was not so inclined, as it happened, this past week. I am not the type of person who would participate in such things out of obligation or habit, simply because I happened to enjoy similar things once, long ago.”

“Of course not,” Josephine said, her tone contrite, “I apologize for — ”

“I am somewhat reserved, but I am not entirely solitary,” Cassandra went on. “I _like_ to visit with the people I care about. In my experience, this often happens over games, and stories are often told, and food and drink are often involved. I do not object, at all, to any of this, and I even seek it out often enough.”

Josephine, unable to stop herself, quietly asked, “Then why…?”

“Why not seek them out during the last week? Because, while I like to be social on my own terms, I dislike intensely the idea of it being an obligation. Compulsory social activities, Lady Josephine, do not appeal to me at all. I would much, _much_ prefer to come together with my friends on my terms, when it happens spontaneously.” She raised her cup and gestured to Josephine with it. “Such as we are doing now.”

Josephine gave a slow blink. “So… you enjoy… this? Now?”

Cassandra looked at Josephine as though she had said something odd. “Of course,” she said. “Of course I do. I certainly consider you a friend. I enjoy your company. At least, I do when you are not interrogating me.” Cassandra did not actually smile, but something shifted in her expression. “For one thing, you are not especially good at interrogation, and I ought to know.”

Josephine felt her face go slack for one instant. Then ducked her head, hiding a wide smile behind her hand. Without raising her head, she said “I will have you know that I am normally excellent at subtle questioning,” she said, attempting a mock-severe tone. She raised her head, her lips twitching with repressed mirth. “I would have all your secrets after just one conversation, if you had not plied me with drink,” she said, sipping from her cup. “You have put me at an unfair disadvantage. I had no idea you were such a clever player of the Game.”

Cassandra raised one eyebrow. “If giving someone a drink was all it took to play the Game, I might be more interested in it. Particularly if the drink of choice was this cider.” She raised her own cup and drank.

“Oh, I am so glad you like it!” Josephine said. “I am very fond of these cloudy ciders from Ferelden….” This launched a conversation about the beverages they each enjoyed, which culminated with Josephine attempting to explain the appeal of coffee to Cassandra (who remained staunchly unconvinced).

The conversation wound down naturally as they finished their drinks. They were very nearly the last people in the tavern; Cabot had already closed the bar and left for his own quarters. 

“Well,” Josephine said, “thank you so much for a very pleasant visit.” She smoothed her skirts in preparation to rise, then felt the lump in one of her pockets. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I nearly forgot! I — I have something for you.”

“Something for me?” Cassandra asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes… a gift. For Satinalia, I suppose. I meant to give it to you earlier, but… well.” Josephine had wrapped the wrist-warmers in a bit of soft muslin, tied with the leftover end of the brown ribbon she’d used to trim them. She handed the parcel to Cassandra, who deftly undid the ribbon and opened the cloth. Cassandra lifted one of the wrist-warmers up in one hand, running her thumb over the embroidered initials, the frog fasteners. “I hope they will be useful to you,” Josephine said, abruptly nervous. “You could wear them whenever you are out of doors, to help stay warm.” She fell silent, unsure of Cassandra’s response.

Cassandra looked at Josephine. “You made these for me?” Josephine nodded. “Thank you. That is… that is very kind, and thoughtful. It has been some time since anyone has given me a gift. But — these are very fine. I am afraid that I would ruin them if I was to wear them.”

“That is what they are for,” Josephine said softly. “They will eventually tear, or become stained, or simply fall apart, if you are using them. But… that is good. I _want_ you to wear them, to wear them out. That is why I made them for you. And… perhaps I could make you another set, for next Satinalia,” she said shyly.

Cassandra smiled, one of her rare full smiles, her teeth showing, the corners of her mouth curling up. Josephine was suddenly breathless. “Thank you,” said Cassandra. Then her expression changed. “I’m afraid I did not get you anything, though.”

Josephine shook her head, smiling. “You got me some cider; had you not, I would not have had any at all, and would have had to wait until next Satinalia.”

Cassandra’s mouth quirked. “Well, that _is_ something, then.”

They rose, walking out together in companionable silence. Their breath puffed out in clouds of mist about their heads; the air was very cold. The stars were bright in the sky, sparkling. As they approached the stairs to the main keep, Josephine turned to Cassandra, and — greatly daring — touched Cassandra’s elbow with her hand. It was a friendly gesture, no more, not in any way intended to manipulate or influence. Just… an indication of closeness. Cassandra did not pull away.

“Lady Josephine,” Cassandra said, looking uncertain and strangely vulnerable. “…I did see the lanterns. From the room where I do my research. I was there most evenings this week. There are windows, overlooking the yard. I watched the lanterns being lit, watched them float away. It… it reminded me of my brother, which is both distressing and comforting at once. It was… lovely. I am glad that you arranged for them.”

“Oh!” said Josephine. “Oh. Well. I am glad you were able to see them, after all.” Her heart gave a small twist of pleasure-pain.

Cassandra laid her gloved hand briefly on Josephine’s, where it was still on Cassandra’s elbow, then stepped back. They nodded at one another and parted, Josephine heading to the main doors, Cassandra to her loft in the smithy.

Back in her room, Josephine pulled the dark brown ribbon out of her pocket. Cassandra had left it on the table, apparently forgotten, and Josephine had surreptitiously nicked it. She now set it carefully in her sewing basket. It really was too short to do anything with; but one never knew when it might come in useful. If she was keeping it also because it matched the ribbon on the wrist-warmers she had given Cassandra, well, a little sentimentality never hurt anyone.

***

The Inquisitor rode out on a mission four days later. Cassandra was among the company. 

Along with perhaps a dozen other spectators, Josephine stood in the yard to see them off. It was early morning; the sunlight was pink, and the air was so cold that everything sparkled. It was a very pretty morning, although Josephine shivered in the chill air, feeling the cold seep into the bottoms of her feet despite the hide overboots she wore. She was very grateful that the party would be riding out momentarily.

Before Josephine was entirely aware of his presence, she heard Cole’s voice next to her. “They keep her warm,” he said. “She didn’t think they would; such small things, so fine-looking, not practical. But they help. They make her happy.”

Josephine allowed herself a smile, guessing the meaning under Cole’s words. Suddenly, she did not feel at all cold herself.

“And now they have made you warm too!” Cole said wonderingly, before drifting away so quickly and completely that his presence and words slipped from Josephine’s mind, although the warmth remained.

Then the gates were hauled open, and the party set off. Josephine was standing close to the keep, at the back of the small crowd. And at any rate, Cassandra did not look around as she rode out. But Josephine allowed herself to look, saw the sliver of red cloth at Cassandra’s wrist, under the gleaming gauntlet, and her smile widened.

Josephine headed into the keep. She went directly to her office, as she had a full morning of work ahead of her. Leliana’s most recent report suggested that a minor Nevarran nobleman might be considering forcing a legal claim to marry Cassandra, and Josephine needed to begin researching the nobleman and the laws involved. No doubt it would all come to nothing, but one could never be too careful. By next Satinalia, Josephine doubted she would even remember the name Thomasz Pentaghast.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, and want more Josephine/Cassandra, [Wild Wild Sings the Bird](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5013256/chapters/11521657) continues their story.
> 
> Some mea culpas: I took a few liberties with the timeline of my own fics, but it works if you squint. I took even more liberties with Skyhold's layout, but I do think that (barring some truly miraculous elven magic) that viaduct really would get icy as heck. As for Josephine meeting Cassandra, Josie's Codex entry suggests an introduction by letter, which I am blithely ignoring because I like this better. :)
> 
> Cassandra's first joke -- “A place where the weak die young, and the strong envy them” -- is adapted from Samuel Johnson, who was referring to Edinburgh, Scotland.


End file.
